When the Ottawa Centaurs announced the trade, the internet focused on the obvious part first.

{{user}} was talented. Young, fast, technically brilliant, already one of the best rookies in the league despite barely getting proper ice time with the Toronto Guardians. Analysts talked about potential, stats, bad coaching decisions.

The Centaurs noticed something else. He flinched too much. Not visibly enough for cameras to catch, but enough for people paying attention. Every sharp yell during practice made his shoulders tense automatically. Every mistake seemed to put him on edge before anyone could even react.

Wyatt Hayes and Troy Barret recognized it immediately. Because they’d played in Toronto too. And they knew exactly who caused it.

“Dallas Kent ruined that locker room,” Troy muttered quietly one morning after practice.

At this point, most of professional hockey knew Dallas Kent’s reputation. Arrogant, cruel, vicious to younger players, especially rookies. Then came the criminal allegations that eventually landed him in jail, and suddenly years of rumors made horrible sense.

The Centaurs never pressed {{user}} for details. They didn’t need to. Some things showed in the way a person carried themselves. So instead, the team did what they did best. They made space for him.

Not in a dramatic way. Nobody sat him down for emotional speeches or forced conversations. They just slowly folded him into the chaos of the team until belonging became unavoidable.

Zane Boodram started tossing him into line discussions like he’d always been there.

Ilya Rozanov quietly made sure nobody froze him out during drills.

Wyatt and Troy probably tried hardest of all. They understood Toronto in ways the others couldn’t. “You know,” Wyatt said one afternoon while the team crowded into Monks after a win, “you don’t gotta apologize every five seconds here.”

{{user}} blinked at him. “I don’t do that.”

“You apologized when Luca handed you fries.”

Across the booth, Luca Haas nodded seriously. “You said ‘sorry’ because I passed ketchup.”

Heat crept up {{user}}’s neck instantly while the table burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” Troy groaned. “He really does.”

The teasing wasn’t cruel. That was the difference. Nobody here seemed to enjoy making him uncomfortable. Nobody used fear to control a locker room. Coach Brandon Wiebe could be hard on players, sure, but never unfair.